Code Name: Lucifer's Bride
by slytherin-punk-rocker311
Summary: If Hans Gruber had just one daughter to survive him...after all, never let a man do a woman's job... (DONE)
1. Angela's Army

The twenty recruits waiting to be made into soldiers sat in two rows on either side of the glass-walled chamber, clad in sweaty leather and trying to amuse themselves in their waiting with knuckle-cracking competitions (since burping without excuse is known widely as being most unlawful when in the presence of ladies, even in America, and when paired with the fact that soon there'd be one in their midst it seemed most inappropriate). At last a squadron of six taller, more muscular European guards opened the mirrored double doors and the men, all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen and containing an average education in their multi-colored-haired heads, quieted and rose to their feet.  
  
Walking down their center line was a young woman of nineteen, her hair brown with natural blond highlights and barely touching her shoulder blades. It swung artfully as she walked. Her eyes were gentle, masking her spirit in their perfect pale gray. She also wore leather, a jacket and black skirt to match, as well as a pair of the typical knee-high chunk- heeled black boots to complete the devilish ensemble. As she removed her coat and handed it lightly to one of her bodyguards, with utmost trained pageant-like poise and grace, it could be seen that underneath she wore a tank top that said, very simply, "Berlin".  
  
Finally she stopped at the opposite end of the room, and turned to face her troops. "You need not know my name, so please refrain from daring to ask. You are to know me as Lucifer's Bride when in anyone's presence." A couple of the men noted, through their quieted conversation, that she could turn on and off her German accent at will. "The same goes for the twenty of you. You may choose to be known as whatever you like, the strangest possible encouraged." One of the younger boys, a Briton with thick-rimmed glasses, relished this chance to put his Star Wars logic to good use.  
  
Then she turned on her heel, but paused at the door. "Oh.by the way.long live Hans Gruben." The guards returned her salute as she retreated to her private chambers with a cockily raised eyebrow. 


	2. Winter in Germany

Over the next few days the twenty chosen worked hard to strength themselves in near machines. They were consciously aware of the beautiful daughter's presence, when she passed between meetings and planning sessions with high- ranking officers of various nationalities to look in on them as they trained behind glass windows in the lower floors of their secret offices. Many of them still wondered at her name, but a rumor ran among the older ones that it was Angela, or Amy, or something along the A-line.  
  
At last, after many weeks, which soon turned into tireless months, they met together, this time in the girl's private gym down below. It was quite the physical health center, well established with a lit pool and many workout devices, a couple of punching bags in each corner, and a small obstacle course in the back which she'd set up for herself. This time she dressed a little less street, wearing a blue tube top and a short tan skirt with her trademark black boots. Her hair was held back only by her sunglasses-she looked like Jennifer Lopez, perfect, chiseled, slim body and all.  
  
"I have received word that the formerly jailed alliances my father had set free while he was still alive have requested to meet myself and my troops in Germany. As it is very cold, even in the summer, it should be known that snow is expected soon. We shall be traveling by plane, and then by boat into the small town where they are hidden for now. As the place is still very uncivilized and we want to look like little more than tourists (who would happen to speak very fluent German, at least the minority of high powers). Therefore I hope you have ridden a horse before now." She paused to chuckle. "As always you are to call each other and the rest of your superiors, including myself, by your chosen code names. I've received a list of those-some of you are very, erm, cultured."  
  
At this she turned and withdrew a small photo from her back skirt pocket. The men close behind her in the circle could see that it was of herself at about age fourteen and her father Hans, in the snows of Berlin, her birthplace. "It will be good to come home." She whispered to herself, and her voice broke slightly as he studied his arm around her shoulder. She made sure nobody else saw the tear form in her lined eye but her heart and perhaps her mirror, if her makeup smeared. 


	3. Dimitri

Angela was surprised to hear someone knock on her door late that evening, but unlike most spies she didn't exclaim "Wait, the Italian government wasn't supposed to meet me until tomorrow!" Instead she calmly proceeded toward the door, utterly expressionless.  
  
On the other side stood a semi-muscular boy of about eighteen years. His build was that of a German, with his shaggy black hair growing close to his chin and his beard just beginning to grow back. His deep blue eyes studied hers carefully before he spoke, and she gestured him into the office, looking around casually outside. He did as she asked and turned to face her as she closed the door. She looked his strong arms over and didn't seem too interested in his face at this point, studying instead his sweaty dark gray T-shirt and frayed khaki cargoes. "You have a name?" She spoke thickly with her thief's German this time. "Dimitri." He said quickly, and she could hint at a slight city-boy in his tone.  
  
She nodded. "And what do you need from me?" She turned away and picked up a silver nail file delicately between her ten French manicures from her desktop. "Your friendship, actually." He said gently, and she put it back down. "That's it?" He nodded-she didn't have to turn around to tell. She watched him curiously from the corner of one eye, as a child would do, when frightened, on the other side of the glass cages at the zoo.  
  
Finally she looked at him. "Then you would have me reveal my secret?" She said teasingly, eyeing him carefully, and he nodded after a moment's thought. "My name? It is Angela." He took this in and nodded once more. "I like it. It's pretty." She breathed in. "Thank you.Dimitri." Then she turned back to the picture on her desk. "Father."  
  
He sensed her inner turmoil, and it ripped him. He left her alone, sadly, as he quietly opened the door and headed down the hall on cat's feet. 


	4. Remembering Is So Lonely

The next morning, Dimitri met Angela in the hallway, cupping a coffee mug in between his half-frozen hands. He'd changed into a slightly less street and more city-boy look today, with his dark brown button up cuffed shirt and his black slacks, with his gray Chucks to liven it up a little toward his actual age. "Hey, um, Angela, can I talk to you about something? I brought you some coffee if you're not awake yet or something, I hope you like it black." She studied him expressionlessly. "Well, Dimitri, I assure you my early-morning workout has found me more than awake but I would like some coffee, and yes, I do prefer it black." He nodded, taking this in rather stupidly, and walked her into her own office.  
  
"So your father was Hans Gruber, right? German, I presume." "True." She said quietly, facing him politely as she sipped her coffee. "My brother knew him. Actually, both of them did. One was killed in the Nakatomi bombing, and Fritz died trying to get revenge on the guy who did it." Angela smiled behind her cup. "Ah, yes, now I remember Fritz. He had quite a temper, that used to grate my father's nerves, but it was well-suited when it came to the physical part of the plan. And your other brother-" "Dane." "Yes, he was very quiet, but very sweet. He treated me like a princess, which is why my father liked him."  
  
She could feel herself becoming weak and nostalgic as he continued. "Do you remember how they died?" "N-no." She said, coughing the words. "I lost my father the same night, when I was sixteen. I've raised myself since then, except for his other followers not on that mission, who've become my security." "So what are you going to do about it?" he said. The questions grew more prying by the minute. "I'd like to find the guy who did it, some American cop. His name is John McCaine. He's got an attitude, and being on the force obviously gave him great skill in hiding and attacking at the proper times." She felt like she was betraying her father's memory with this true statement, as if she was praising his accomplishments that night. "I think my father had kidnapped his wife or kids or something, as a ditch effort to hold him off long enough in order to get away with the money. Of course, McCaine was smarter than he thought. So evidently the only way out was down." Her voice broke and she threw her femininely-muscular arms up.  
  
She was surprised to feel Dimitri wrap his strong arms around her, holding her closer and closer to his body heat. He hadn't done any training yet for today; she couldn't miss his scent through the usual sweat. "Are you gonna be okay? I mean, if you don't want to talk about it." If only the poor fool knew how long she'd needed to talk about it-well , perhaps he was worth a shot. He reminded her of Dane, with Fritz's strength. Yet as he rocked her back as forth slowly he was gentle-like her father. Yes, he was worth a chance. 


	5. Spanish Sarcasm

The following sunrise found Angela at her father's desk, rifling through old papers and photos (though she tried to ignore those of her with him, most were tear- and coffee-stained already), her dark under-eye circles not disguising a still-sleepless night. She paused as she picked up a thin folder from inside his bottom drawer, handling it so carefully to examine its brief contents as if it were glass.  
  
As she flipped through some pictures of a man with his wife and kids, she uncovered a slightly yellowed newspaper article with burned edges, as if someone who had also lost another at Nakatomi had wanted his own childish revenge on the strange family. Angela opened the paper slowly, trying not to make much noise in the quietest hours of her day, and skimmed through the article with her black-tipped fingernails. Suddenly the word "McCaine" jumped out at her, though it was neither bolded nor italicized. To the average reader of the Times it wouldn't mean anything other than a hero from another city. But to Angela it meant quite a bit.  
  
She immediately checked the date, no longer caring for the noise factor. It was dated only a few days after the incident in which she'd lost her father. She realized the woman and two children in the picture were probably still a part of McCaine's life. As she studied the picture, looking for minute details such as lack of smiles (there was none), she struggled not to burn it like the person who'd tried to destroy this old issue of the Times.  
  
She heard footsteps gently padding the carpet and noted that she should have quieted herself in her discovery after all. But it was only Davidoff, one of her longest-hired bodyguards. He'd been working for her father at the time of the incident and had managed to escape when Hans told him to leave it to him. In fact, he'd revealed a lot of the details that night to her already, but she knew he surely had much to tell. He reminded her of dear Dane, she said, with a sugary-sweet smile. "Something wrong, Miss Angela?" He said, speaking in a cool Scottish- Swedish tone. "No, Davidoff, thank you.but perhaps you recognize the Mr. McCaine in this picture?" He strode forward and took it gently from between her fingers. "Yes, Miss, this is the one." He said confidently. "I believe." She nodded, satisfied.  
  
"Perhaps you could run a scan on it for me in the computer."  
  
"I will take it to Sanchez." He said, and headed to the stairs.  
  
Down below the offices was the somewhat-secret computer lab that belonged to Sanchez, the only Spaniard on her staff. He spoke very fluent English, when he felt like it, and most of the time he used a natural gunshot Spanish accent. She had been trying to teach him German but it hadn't come very well to his dialect. Sanchez had a temper, and he was impatient, but he was still very intelligent in the ways of the illegal and a hard worker. That was all she'd required of any of them.  
  
Davidoff teased Sanchez with a German hello and earned his first dirty glance of the day. "Now, Sanchez, please look up this nice-looking American boy for us." Sanchez snatched the photo from his hand and sneered. "This is Mr. McCaine, yes?" He looked at Angela. "Si, Sanchez." He nodded. "Ok, then." With a comical grin he logged online and went to his favorites file, where he clicked into a police force website for New York. "John McCaine, 35, NYC police officer, married with a boy and girl.ooh, this is interesting." He wheeled the monitor around to face her. "Says here your Mr. McCaine has quite a list of heroic activites since Nakatomi." Angela pointed and scrolled down the list, mouthing to herself. "Yeah.he's been causing trouble in the States lately."  
  
She turned to Davidoff. "Screw Germany. We're going to New York." 


	6. Mr Thoroughs

Angela strode to the front of the room elegantly, and Dimitri, one among the twenty men crowded in the corner behind her, noted as several of the others watched her closely, regarding her in every possible manner. She turned around, and every one of them instantly looked away. Dimitri wondered if this was a quality that she'd inherited from Hans her father, to be able to silence and frighten grown men into cowering fetal positions in their chairs by simply trying to look them in the eyes.  
  
"Do any of you recognize this man?"  
  
Sanchez threw the photo up on the wall from his laptop, and growls and the cracking of knuckles could be heard in the perfect silence.  
  
"McCaine. Of course."  
  
An older man rose from the other end of the long glass table, his graying blond hair getting a little long in the back.  
  
"Angela, aren't you tired of fighting this battle? He is gone."  
  
Dimitri watched her as she clenched her gloved fists, obviously restraining herself from lunging at him. He commanded respect, even hers. She cast him a side glance, and her steely eyes softened a bit, barely enough to see.  
  
"Russell, he is never gone. Everyone here knows that. That-" She kicked softly at the glass tile at her feet. "That is why I am standing up here before you all with this picture and you are sitting there listening to my voice."  
  
Russell took his seat and cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. "Angela, dear, you must recall that your father Mr. Gruber and I were great friends. But I still do not understand why you rebel against what authority I command. I should be standing up there-this is no place for a lady." She flinched and clenched the other fist just as tightly. "If I had my way we'd all be on a plane bound for your birthplace at this very hour." Some of the other men nodded in agreement, but most focused on Angela, just waiting for her to reach her breaking point. Every woman had one.  
  
Angela took a moment to speak. "Mr. Thoroughs, you must recall that you were always under my father's authority and that in saying so you remain under mine. Do not refer to me as anything lesser and do not rise, please." "You are truly your father's daughter." Russell said spitefully.  
  
Angela gazed at him curiously for a moment before continuing.  
  
"Now, need our good friend Davidoff read a list of Mr. McCaine's brave accomplishments?" Not a head nodded in the room.  
  
"I didn't think so. I believe he last foiled our collective plans in his hometown of New York, where he stopped one of Mr. Thorough's quieter associates from destroying their ever-slower subway system." A few of the men chuckled, including Sanchez. Angela spoke moderately quickly and at a small tone but she still held the attention of every man in the place, just as her old man had taught her while his heart still beated.  
  
"Our dear Sanchez has uncovered a possible operation by the Russian Communist Party, who refused to attend this meeting (to obviously work more on it), that could try to overthrow their current czar. I believe he is a very good friend to the American president and would make an excellent bribe when held captive at a United Nations annual budget meeting. Now, if Mr. McCaine receives news of this plot, which no doubt he will somehow, it could mean the termination of their childish ambitions but perhaps the perfect trap to avenge Nakatomi.for all of us."  
  
Now she looked to her men. "I have myself gathered twenty of Europe's finest and seen to it that they were trained in both attack technique and self-defense. They have been acquainted with my father's favorite weaponry selection, and they are the strongest, faster, and smartest I can provide."  
  
Several heads turned, and Dimitri found himself sweating.  
  
"Now, Russell, my friend, am I still such a lady?"  
  
Russell looked up-he hadn't been paying her attention, as usual. "Yes." He growled, and no one dared look at either of them as she dismissed. 


	7. Angela's Other Half

Dimitri didn't see Angela for a few days once they landed in New York. As a result he spent much of his time exploring the city, riding the subway a lot of places he went on his own and eating out a lot so he could meet people. The people in the United States were so different here than in Germany. Everyone was in a hurry to get everywhere, and all kinds of odd things happened as a regular occurrence on the streets that hardly ever did at home.  
  
When he finally did see her she was talking to a young man of Chinese or Japanese descent. He found out from Sanchez and Davidoff that he was twenty- one and his name was Kijiro Kounos, and that he and Angela had been friends since his father worked for one of Hans's associates. He noticed from his perch down the hall that she laughed and smiled a lot more when with Kijiro, and the hard shell she'd worked hard on seemed to fall away.  
  
Dimitri began for once in his time here to worry that Kijiro was after Angela and that perhaps their future was already set in stone. Perhaps, even, her father had met them together in hopes of them being married someday. He'd tried all he could to comfort her when she thought of her dead father and let her discover things about him as he discovered her. As he watched the quick-witted man of medium-muscular build and a sharp mind, along with slightly unruly black spiked hair and lively crystal blue eyes he saw something he was missing. It was experience. This Kijiro had known Angela for so long that he knew her secrets, what she liked and what she didn't.  
  
But worst of all, Kijiro seemingly had no flaws. Angela was the only woman in the group but Kijiro never looked at any of the American city girls he saw on the streets or any woman he came in contact but her. He always had a good spirit and when he did get angry it was only in fun. Things that would irk and trouble Dimitri and the other men to death only seemed to fuel Kijiro's sense of humor. He was strong, but not overly so, and smart, as well as one of the faster men on the team. He knew still how to be a gentleman.  
  
What so interested Dimitri in Kijiro was that a rumor had been passing around the barracks between Angela's soldiers. By now they'd found out her name, somehow, and the strange, curious rumor was that Kijiro and Angela were now engaged, and it was the first time she'd ever cried. Naturally, Dimitri knew better about the second half of that statement, but sadly he didn't doubt the first. He had to find out for himself.and fast. 


	8. Mr Gruber's Daughter

8'o clock, Monday night, and I'm waiting  
  
To finally meet a girl just a little cooler than me  
  
Her name is Nona she's a rocker with a nose ring  
  
She wears a two-way though I'm not quite sure what that means  
  
Dimitri followed Angela down the hall to her room that night in New York, determined to discover a bit more about her than who she told everyone she was. As soon as she closed the door she began to undress, especially tired, and barely noticed his quick entry until he was right in front of her. "My, God!" She began to curse at him in thick German. "Look, Angela, God! Look, I just want to talk to you." "What, so you come barging in here when I'm trying to go to bed, half-naked? You stupid shieskoff..." Before he could mutter another word she pushed him out the door and closed it in his face. He listened for a quiet moment to her German ramblings before sinking into a crouch against the door.  
  
And when she walks  
  
All the wind blows and the angels sing  
  
But she doesn't notice me...  
  
Dimitri put his face in his hands and sighed heavily. After a moment of reflection on his current state of brashness he turned and knocked lightly on the bottom half of the door. "Angela, please, just give me a shot." "Go away, you piece of shies." "Angela." "Do you not understand no? Go AWAY!" "God." Dimitri exclaimed quietly, leaning hard against the door again, defeated.  
  
Cause she's watching wrestling  
  
Creaming over tough guys  
  
Listening to rap-metal  
  
Turntables in her eyes  
  
It's like a bad movie  
  
She's looking through me  
  
If you were me then you'd be  
  
Screaming someone shoot me  
  
As I fail miserably  
  
Trying to get the girl all the bad guys want  
  
A moment of quiet later, Angela opened the door, hitting an unsuspecting Dimitri in the back of the head. "Ow!" "God, sorry." Angela opened the door, now wearing a pair of black track sweats and a red Emily Strange t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a low, casual ponytail and her smoky makeup was gone. Strangely, she was still as beautiful. "What do you want to talk about, then?" "Erm...can you, eh...can you tell me about your friend? The Chinese boy?"  
  
"Kijiro." Angela sighed, but a smile played at her sad face. "He's a friend of a friend of my father's, you could say." "A friend." Dimitri replied with much uncertainty, trying to get her to expand. "Yes, that is all, Dimitri." "Then why do I always see you with him?" "He's my best friend, Dimitri. Don't you remember when you had one?" "Well, I-I-I never had any friends." "That's not true. You're not the type like I am." "I-I did have one. I played with Davey on my high school football team." "Well, this is the only friend I've ever had." She turned as if to close the door again.  
  
She likes Godsmack and I like Agent Orange  
  
Her CD changer's full of singers that are mad at their dads  
  
She says she'd like to score some reefer and forty  
  
She'll never know that I'm the best that she'll ever have  
  
"Wait." Dimitri pulled himself to his feet. "That's not true either. I mean, you do have me. If it means anything, that is." Ah, well, now he'd reached his real question.   
  
And when she walks  
  
All the wind blows and the angels sing  
  
But she doesn't notice me  
  
"You don't really care about Kijiro, do you?" Dimitri shook his head, then nodded, which brought an amused grin to her face. "Quit playing with me. Do you or don't you?" "I-I do. I mean, I care if he's with you or not." "Specify 'with'." She retorted.  
  
Cause she's watching wrestling   
  
Creaming over tough guys  
  
Listening to rap-metal   
  
Turntables in her eyes  
  
She likes them with a mustache  
  
Racetrack season pass  
  
Driving in a trans-am  
  
Does a mullet make a man?  
  
"Angela. You know." "No, I don't think I do." She was flirting, wasn't she? Woah.  
  
It's like a bad movie she's looking through me  
  
If you were me then you'd be screaming someone shoot me  
  
As I fail miserably trying to get the girl all the bad guys want  
  
"You stupid boys. You all have one track minds." "Actually, the majority of us enjoy more things than just women. Like guns, for instance." "I know that. I just think I mean a different kind of gun than what you do."  
  
Woah.  
  
There she goes again with fishnets on  
  
And dreadlocks in her hair  
  
She broke my heart, I wanna be sedated  
  
All I wanted was to see her naked....  
  
Then she kissed him, and he felt everything draining out of his body, except for his love.  
  
Now I'm watching wrestling  
  
Trying to be a tough guy  
  
Listening to rap-metal  
  
Turntables in my eyes  
  
I could grow a mustache  
  
And I ain't got no season pass  
  
All I got's a moped  
  
When she broke off he suddenly felt like an angel who'd been kicked out of heaven. "Goodnight, honeybun..." She teased, smiling a genuine smile at him.  
  
It's like a bad movie  
  
She's looking through me  
  
If you were me then you'd be  
  
Screaming someone shoot me  
  
As I fail miserably  
  
Trying to get the girl all the bad guys want  
  
Then she closed the door in his drooling face.  
  
Trying to get the girl all the bad guys want 


End file.
